Takeover
by In The Beginning
Summary: Bakura has nothing to worry about; Marik is perfectly in control of himself. (Thiefshipping, semi-AU. Rated for later happenings, if I'm still updating at that point.)
1. Chapter 1

(Characters owned by Kazuki Takahashi.)

Chapter One

* * *

"So, when do you think you'll be back?"

Bakura scowls, snatching his keys off the dining table.

From his comfortable spot leaning against the wall, Marik watches the white-haired thief disappear into the bedroom, then re-emerge with his black leather coat draped over an arm.

"I _said,_ when do you—" the Egyptian begins again.

"I don't. _Know,_ Marik," Bakura snaps, patting his pockets to check for his wallet. "I already _told_ you I'd be back as soon as I could."

"Hmph. 'Cause you promised we'd watch a scary movie tonight," Marik pouts, crossing his arms.

"Marik, we _will_ watch that movie," the white-haired man growls, spotting his phone on the coffee table and snatching it up. "And we'll have plenty of time to point out all the ways that they're just too stupid to live. But I haven't heard from my host in a while, and I need to make sure that he and the Ring are both safe."

Marik groans, throwing his hands into the air.

"Just take the friggin' Ring and leave it here, _jeez_-us!"

"If I want to keep my own body, I still need a host, Marik. Believe me, I wouldn't leave the Ring with him if I didn't have to."

When he doesn't get a response, Bakura heads towards the front door, pulling his jacket on in the process.

"I'll call when I'm on my way back," the white-haired thief says before leaving, slamming the door behind him.

After lingering against the wall for a while longer, Marik finally peels himself away, sauntering over to the couch before collapsing onto it.

This isn't the first time Bakura's dashed off unexpectedly, but Marik never felt like he'd been blown off before. He feels a knot settling in his chest, but tries to ignore the feeling.

After all, it's not that he doesn't understand Bakura's concern. He doesn't want the thief to disappear either.

With a sigh, Marik reaches for the remote and turns the television on to a talk show. He needs something to do to pass the time.


	2. Chapter 2

(hahaha I forgot how hard writing could be. Bleh.

Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi.)

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Two

* * *

When he realizes the front door is unlocked, he isn't sure whether to feel relieved or paranoid. Nevertheless, with a single, solid kick, Bakura blasts the front door open, storming into the house.

"_Host!_" he shouts, going first through the living room, then to the bedroom in his search. "Are you in here?! Where are you?!"

For a moment, Bakura lingers in the doorway, ears strained to listen for any sound.

There's a small shuffling sound coming from the dining room down the hall, and he stamps off.

In an instant, he spots a shock of white hair behind the table and points.

"I could end you for this — you know that, right?!"

Ryou emerges from cowering behind the dining table, his eyes still wide.

"O-oh, it's just — h-hello, Bakura," he stammers, the hand over his chest stroking the Millennium Ring. "You could — you could have just knocked, I would have answered…"

Bakura could flip the table onto his host for that response, but instead storms up to Ryou, gripping his shirt with both hands.

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?!" the thief barks, eyes blazing. "I thought something had happened to you!"

"A-ah… sorry," Ryou apologizes, voice soft but still firm. "I went on a vacation with Joey — I could have sworn I left you a message before I left. Didn't I?"

There's a distinct pause before Bakura lets go with one hand, pulling out his phone.

"I don't remember getting any messages," he growls, scrolling through his missed calls. "When was this?"

"Uh — I think it was about a week ago? I left a voice—"

"Oh."

At this, Ryou cranes his neck a bit to see the screen of Bakura's phone.

_1 voicemail (Host) Feb 19 8:22 PM_

Bakura is silent for a moment before glaring at Ryou once more.

"That doesn't explain why you didn't answer my phone calls," he growls.

"Someone stole my phone while we were gone. I haven't had a chance to replace it yet."

Another moment of silence.

"…I can't believe you let someone steal your blasted phone," Bakura finally snaps, pushing Ryou away from him half-heartedly. "Did you learn _nothing_ while I was with you?"

"I was otherwise distracted," Ryou replies, unfazed. "I take it you just came by to check on me, then?"

"Buy another phone so I don't have to drop everything to check on you," the thief demands, striding towards the open door. "I have things to do."

"Yes, nice seeing you too, then. Tell Marik I said hello."

Bakura's response is to slam the front door shut as hard as he can without knocking it off the hinges. As he storms back to his car, he nearly shoves his phone back into his pocket before remembering his promise to call Marik.

He doesn't even need to look at the numbers he's typing as he climbs into the car, keys in hand as he waits for the ringing—

"_Hi, you've reached Marik! Leave a message and I'll get back to it after I'm done being particularly nefarious!"_

Bakura frowns before hanging up.

He's used to Marik ignoring the phone, but it's never gone straight to voicemail before.

With a shrug, Bakura drops his phone back in his pocket, starting the car. If he drives fast, he'll be home soon enough.

Not that there's anything Marik could _do_ alone at the house that could make Bakura worry.

* * *

(I know a lot still hasn't happened, but any/all feedback is appreciated. Please review!)


	3. Chapter 3

(In which I don't know how to write the ideas in my head anymore.

Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi)

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Three

* * *

"Marik?"

Bakura only hears the faint sound of the television as he shuts the door behind him.

"I tried to call you, but your phone was off," he continues, strolling into the living room, takeout bag in hand. "I stopped to pick up some… uh…"

His words trail off as he sees the television still on, but nobody there to watch it. With a sigh, Bakura drops the bag in his hand on the coffee table before searching through the house.

"Marik, where are you?" he calls, poking his head into the kitchen before moving to the bedroom. "I saw your motorbike in the garage, I know you're… here…"

His voice trails off as he finds Marik on the floor, slumped against the side of the bed.

"What the… Marik, are you alright?" Bakura frowns, kicking the laundry on the floor out of his way to go kneel beside the Egyptian. "Marik, wake up. _Marik._"

With a low groan, Marik's eyes crack open, his head rolling to the side and resting against Bakura's shoulder.

"Ah… oh, my head. Ow…"

Bakura sighs, letting himself stroke the darker-skinned thief's hair.

"You pick the strangest places to take a nap," the white-haired man mutters. "What are you doing in here?"

"Huh? I was just… wait…"

Marik slowly glances around, as though he's never been in this room before.

"What…? How did I get here—" he mutters, pausing before turning to stare at Bakura. "And what are you doing back so fast, anyways?! You just left!"

"Marik… I left at seven. It's almost nine now," Bakura replies slowly.

"Huh? No, but — you just left, it was only, like, half an hour ago—? Then why didn't you call?"

"I _did_ try to call you. Twice, actually. But your phone's not on."

"What? Well, it shouldn't be off," Marik frowns, reaching into his pocket. "It was fully charged before you… huh?"

With a mild frenzy, Marik jolts away from the bed, patting his pockets as he glances around.

"Where the hell's my phone?!" he snaps, eyes wide. "I just… where did it—!?"

"Marik, we can look for your phone later," Bakura interrupts, holding out a hand to try and placate the Egyptian. "First things first. Are you alright?"

"I… yeah, I think so," Marik nods slowly, letting Bakura help him to his feet. "W-well, my head still hurts for some reason, but I mean — I'm fine. Yeah, I'm fine."

Bakura glances at Marik for a moment before shrugging.

"I picked up Chinese on the way back," he says. "We can still watch a movie, if you're up for it."

"Yeah, that — let's do that," Marik replies, forcing a grin. "Ooh, can I pick out the movie?"

"Absolutely not," the white-haired thief scowls. "I had to drive to the blasted middle of nowhere to check on my idiot of a host, _and_ I picked up dinner, so _I'm_ going to… pick the…"

Bakura's words trail off as he notices Marik's pout, the Egyptian's chin jutting out as far as it will go.

"…oh, _fine,_ you can pick the bloody movie," he growls, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as he looks away. "Just _stop pouting_ at me like that."

He notices Marik break into a genuine grin, and struggles to keep his own sullen look.

—

Bakura wakes to a heavy weight on his chest and the low, chaotic rumble of a DVD menu. With a long yawn, he fumbles for the remote, finding it and hitting the power button.

On top of him, Marik shifts momentarily, then settles back down, still asleep. In the darkness, Bakura squints to examine what bit he can see of the Egyptian's face.

He sees none of the uncharacteristic confusion from earlier this evening on Marik's face. The image of his unconscious body briefly floats back into Bakura's thoughts, but the white-haired thief swiftly pushes the memory back; they're unimportant now. Instead, he reaches up, pulling the blanket draped over the couch to cover both him and Marik.

Bakura's last action before he drifts back off to sleep is to loosely wrap an arm around Marik's waist.

* * *

(So after reading a lot of tumblr posts about how the YGO characters are usually not portrayed with their canon personalities, I suffered some pretty significant emotional turmoil writing this chapter.

That was before I remembered that I have the freedom to write the characters as I want. :B

Feedback is appreciated; please review!)


	4. Chapter 4

(So much editing done and I'm still not 100% okay with this chapter. However, I suppose I'm alright enough with the first part. =w=

Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi)

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Four

* * *

_ He staggers back, smoke wafting from his body._

_ Marik's spirit, once standing beside him, has already been destroyed by Ra's blast; Bakura figures he only has a few seconds left before his own body slips into the Shadow Realm. It won't happen until the spirit in Marik's body says those words — "Prepare to enter the darkness at the hands of Ra" — but when his body vanishes, he'll wake up from this nightmare. It's how the dream goes._

_ So when Yami Marik strides across the field to approach Bakura — whose body is still solidly a part of this world — the white-haired thief can't help but stare, thoroughly confused._

_ "Ahahaha… you think this is still a dream?" he sneers, pressing the tip of the Millennium Rod under Bakura's chin and forcing his head up. "How… __**amusing**__."_

_ "This wasn't in the terms of our Shadow Game," Bakura growls, standing his ground even as his insides squirm. "Just send me to the Shadow Realm already, why don't you?"_

_ At this, Yami Marik throws his head back in laughter._

_ "You might be the first person that __**wanted**__ to be sent to the Shadow Realm!" he cackles, a jeering grin on his face as he lets his head drop back down. "And yet you were so keen to win a moment ago. Why the change of heart?"_

_ "I'm sure I'll find far more enjoyable company there," Bakura snaps._

_ Yami Marik's sneer shifts into a dark smirk; with a low chuckle, he leans close, resting an elbow on the white-haired spirit's shoulder and propping his own head up with his hand._

_ Bakura isn't sure what's more unsettling: that he can feel every breath that Yami Marik takes with disturbing reality, he can't honestly identify the other spirit's expression as "psychotic."_

_ "You sound so… __**certain**__ of that," Yami Marik murmurs, licking his lips briefly. "What makes you so sure you'll find better company in the Shadow Realm?"_

_ Bakura wants to say that it's because Marik will be stuck there as well, but —_

_ "Oh, is that so?"_

_ Yami Marik reaches for the cord holding the Millennium Ring, pulling on it lightly._

_ "What makes you so sure I sent him to the Shadow Realm?"_

_ Bakura feels the floor drop out from under him._

_ "What have you done to the real Marik?" he demands, baring his teeth._

_ "I __**am**__ the real Marik now, Bakura," Yami Marik grins lecherously, raising the Millenium Ring to his face and flicking his tongue out._

_ "You are __**not**__ Marik!" the white-haired thief snarls, snatching the Ring out of the other spirit's grasp as he finally stumbles back. "What have you done to him?!"_

_ "Bakura…"_

_ "__**Tell me where Marik is!**__"_

_ "__**Bakura!**__"_

Bakura shouts, his eyes flying open.

It takes him a few moments to realize that it's the real Marik hovering over him — not even just the dream version, but the flesh-and-blood Marik. With a low groan, Bakura covers his face with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Good morning, Marik," he grumbles.

"You kept tossing and turning," the Egyptian says, sitting on the edge of the couch. "And you were muttering in your sleep. Did you have that dream again?"

Bakura exhales slowly through his nose as he slowly sits up, wincing at the dull ache in his back. He presses his hands to his face, pausing before dragging them down from his eyes.

"You had the dream again, didn't you?"

When he doesn't get an answer, Marik reaches out to lay a hand on Bakura's shoulder.

"Bakura—"

"_Don't._"

Even Bakura is surprised by the venom in his voice, but it gets the effect he wants; Marik withdraws his hand, looking uncertainly at the white-haired thief.

"I'm going to make breakfast," the Egyptian finally says, hesitantly standing.

Bakura says nothing as Marik walks into the kitchen, his mind still buzzing.

In all the times he's relived that battle in his dreams, Yami Marik has never deviated from the "script" — if he could call it that. But this time…

_"You think this is still a dream?"_

Bakura scowls before rising to his feet, shuffling into the bathroom.

_Just a dream. That's all it was,_ he assures himself. _A false scene created by a false Marik._

_ "I __**am**__ the real Marik now…"_

With a low growl, Bakura leans on the sink for support as he stares hard into the medicine cabinet mirror. Between the faint cracks in the glassy surface, he searches his own reflection for some sign — any sign — of weakness.

He's not quite sure what he's looking for specifically, but knows it's there — whatever it is.

_"What makes you so sure I sent him to the Shadow Realm?"_

How else could he have fallen victim to his own mind games? Millennia of living in the Ring with his thirst for vengeance, and for what — for a _dream_ to mess with his mind like that—

Bakura snarls, slamming his fist against the wall.

The mirror swings open, nearly whacking him in the face. He grabs it, ready to slam it back shut —

And freezes.

"Uh… Marik, you — you might want to come see this," Bakura finally manages to say.

"What is it?" Marik asks, sounding distracted.

"Well, I, uh… I found your phone."

"Oh, really? Well bring it here, then—"

"Marik, I said 'come here' for a _reason._ You need to _see this._"

Bakura hears Marik heave an exaggerated sigh before he storms over to the bathroom, bowl and whisk still in hand.

"What's so damn important that you couldn't bring my phone out to… me…"

Marik's voice trails off, and the bowl almost slips out of his grasp.

One of Bakura's knives sticks out of the wall, speared through Marik's phone.

* * *

(:O

As always, feedback is appreciated. Please review!)


	5. Chapter 5

(Deleted the "old" chapter five because I realized what I was writing for "chapter six" could have well been tacked on to the end here, and - given the fact that I already know this is probably going to take a while for me to finish - I figured if I could condense some chapters, I probably should.

Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi)

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Five

* * *

For several painfully long seconds, Marik and Bakura stare at the impaled phone in the medicine cabinet.

"W-well, it, uh… it looks like I'm going to have to get a new phone now, huh, Bakura?" Marik finally speaks, forcing a weak chuckle. "G-Good, I've been wanting to… to replace it anyway, ahahaha…"

Bakura wordlessly reaches for the knife, wrenching it from the wall. The handle digs uncomfortably into his palm as he pries the phone off the blade.

"…seriously, though. How did that happen?" Marik asks, pointing the whisk in his hand at the phone. "We haven't had anyone over in ages… That's not one of yours, is it—?"

"I didn't stab your phone, Marik," Bakura frowns, spinning the blade briefly in one hand before tightly gripping the handle again. "And this isn't one of mine, anyway. It feels too heavy. Were there any knives missing from the kitchen?"

"Uh, I didn't notice. Why?"

Bakura briefly glances from the knife in his hand to Marik, but the subtle motion doesn't go unnoticed.

"What? What's with that look?" the Egyptian demands, taking a step back. "You — you don't think _I_ did that, do you?

"I didn't say—"

"Don't look at me like that! Do — do you think I wouldn't remember _stabbing_ my _phone_ and leaving it in the bathroom?!"

He trembles briefly before storming out; Bakura can soon hear the slam of the plastic bowl against a counter, and takes a deep breath himself before following Marik into the kitchen.

He sees the Egyptian leaning over the sink, tightly clutching the edge of the counter, and slowly goes to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Marik."

"…I… I didn't do that," Marik murmurs slowly, shooting a glance at Bakura. "At least, I — I don't _remember_ doing that. But something like that — I'd remember it, wouldn't I? I-I mean, even when my darkness took over me in Battle City, I—"

"That's enough," Bakura chides gently, reaching up to gently stroke the blond's hair. "I don't want to hear another word of it. Alright?"

Marik looks away, but the white-haired thief can still see his shoulders drop.

"Yeah. Alright," he finally mutters, halfheartedly waving away Bakura's hand from his hair. "Ugh… I'm not really hungry anymore. And now I have to go get my phone replaced…"

"Forget about breakfast, then," Bakura shrugs, glancing at the clock. "It's pretty late for that, anyway. We can pick up lunch after we get you a new phone, if we get hungry."

"Mm. Well, let me go take a quick shower before we go, then."

Bakura nods briefly as Marik walks out, his mind occupied by other thoughts.

After he hears the bathroom door shut, he pulls the knife out of his pocket, examining it carefully.

It's definitely not one from his personal collection; the unfamiliar feel of the handle aside, the blade is far too heavy for his tastes. It's not one of the kitchen knives, either — those blades are plain, while the one in his hand has been somewhat stylized.

Out of curiosity, Bakura faintly traces over the sharp edge with his index finger.

"Tch! Dammit," he curses, bringing his finger to his mouth and sucking away the blood.

So the blade is painful. Razor-sharp, but painful. Bakura's occasionally sliced his hand open on his own knives without noticing, but it'd be damn near impossible not to notice even being nicked by this knife. _Definitely_ not in his style. And he knows for a fact that Marik isn't one for knives.

_Then where did it come from…?_

With a scowl, Bakura opens the cabinet under the sink, throwing the knife in before slamming the door shut.

He's not awake enough to deal with this right now.

* * *

"Well, look at it this way — at least there were only _three_ people we wanted to send to the Shadow Realm this time. That's an improvement."

Bakura growls, chomping on his burger with great force. Marik sighs before turning his attention back to his new phone, idly picking at Bakura's fries.

Neither of them had really wanted to come to Burger World specifically — especially Marik, whose stomach still grumbles from the stress of this morning. But Bakura had gone long enough without eating, and this was the closest fast food place they could find.

"_Ugh._ I forgot how many of my ringtones were custom," Marik grumbles, setting his phone on the table. "And I didn't save them on the computer…"

"Good," Bakura mutters, shoving what's left of his burger into his mouth. His words muffled, he continues, "The less I have to listen to _that_ song, the _better._"

As he takes a swig of his drink, he misses the mischievous glint suddenly appear in Marik's eyes.

"Oh? But I thought you _loved_ that one, Bakura," the Egyptian grins, folding his hands on the table and leaning forward. "After all, it was your own little 'theme song,' if you will."

"Marik—" Bakura starts, eyes flashing.

"Come to think of it, it _has_ been a while since I last heard it. I might have forgotten it… How does it go again?"

"Marik, I swear to Ra, if you start singing it—"

"Hm, wasn't it something like, 'Ring-ring-ring-ri—'?"

"Sing another word of that song and I will _personally_ send you to the Shadow Realm."

Silence falls over their booth. Satisfied, Bakura shovels a handful of fries into his mouth, chewing loudly.

"…_Bakura-phooone~_"

"_Dammit, Marik!"_ the white-haired thief snarls, lunging across the table — or trying to, at least. Marik ducks to the side, cackling gleefully at the white-haired thief.

"Ding-dong-ding-dong ding-dong-ding, _Bakura-phooooone~_"

Bakura finally snatches Marik by his shirt, and pulls the Egyptian forward, fires burning in his brown eyes.

"_Jeez_, Bakura, lighten up a bit," the Egyptian chuckles, a faint grin still plastered on his face. "It's just a song."

He's tempted to whack Marik upside the head for that anyway. But Bakura finally takes notice of the light-hearted expression on the Egyptian's face, and realizes how much he prefers it to the look of fear Marik wore this morning.

"…I should still send you to the Shadow Realm just for coming up with the damn song," he grumbles, letting go of Marik and slouching back.

"You say that like that's still possible," Marik grins, folding his arms on the table. "Or that you really _would_ do that."

Bakura remembers a time when he'd refuse to suffer this indignity; now, he merely snorts, the scowl still engraved on his face.

"Whatever," he growls. "Being around you this long has made me so damn—"

Bakura's last word gets interrupted by the obnoxiously loud ringing coming from Marik's new phone.

"_That's_ the default ringtone? I'm changing it the moment we get home," Marik groans, quickly scooping up his phone and bringing it to his ear. "Hello?"

Bakura lets himself zone out, only noticing the sound of Marik's voice and not his actual words. For lack of a better train of thought, his mind goes back to the dream…

_"You think this is still a dream?"_

The Yami Marik from that nightmare had _never_ abandoned the "script" before, let alone in the way he did. If he tries hard enough (which, despite his best intentions, doesn't seem to require much effort at all), he can still feel Yami Marik looming over him.

That dark grin still taunts him from his memories.

"Oi, Bakura!"

Bakura jumps slightly before noticing Marik staring right at him, phone pulled slightly away from his mouth.

"Ishizu's inviting us over for dinner," the Egyptian says, seemingly unbothered by Bakura's inattentiveness. "She wants to know if next Tuesday's a good day."

The white-haired man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

As much as he may not care for Ishizu, she's far more tolerant of his existence than his host's collection of "friends." And it's been a long time since Marik's been able to see his sister…

It doesn't hurt that Ishizu is also a decent cook. Not as good as Ryou, Bakura thinks, but still decent.

"Yeah, that's fine," he nods, moving all their trash onto the plastic tray. "Come on — let's get out of here."

"Alright — hey, Ishizu, Tuesday's fine. What time do you…"

Marik's words fade out again as Bakura finds himself thinking about the dream.

_No. That's enough of that,_ he growls to himself, crushing a paper napkin in his fist. _It's just a dream. Nothing more._

He ignores the uncomfortable silence in his mind as he and Marik finally stand, ready to leave.

* * *

(As always, any and all kinds of feedback are greatly appreciated. Please review!)


	6. Chapter 6

(Hey, remember that time when I was a happy, well-adjusted college student who was on top of her schoolwork and didn't work on her fanfiction except for only when she had free time?

Me neither. Let's just say my life has been pretty abysmal lately.

All characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi)

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Six

* * *

"Remind me why we're here again?"

Marik shoots Bakura a faint scowl.

"Because we — or at least, _I_ agreed to come over for dinner," the Egyptian replies, finding Ishizu's call button and pressing it briefly. "Especially since I haven't seen my sister in ages. I'm guessing _you_ tagged along because you haven't been able to leave me alone lately."

Bakura growls, but says nothing.

Marik may not remember every "trance" he's fallen into recently, but Bakura refuses to let him loose in public like that.

"Besides, you get a free meal out of it, so what's it matter to you?" Marik continues, his hands jammed into his pockets. "I thought you liked Ishizu's cooking, anyway."

"Yes, but you know how I feel about… _people_," Bakura grumbles, gesturing vaguely. "Well, at least _she_ doesn't invite over people I despise when she thinks I'll be there, unlike my blasted—"

_"Is that you, my brother?"_

Ishizu's sudden, staticky voice causes them both to jump.

"Y-Yeah — it's us, Sister," Marik finally answers, his voice only barely shaking.

"_Alright. Just a moment._"

After a second's pause, the lock clicks, and Marik and Bakura step into the foyer to escape the cold.

"Are we taking the elevator, or—?"

"She lives on the fourteenth floor, Marik. We're taking the blasted elevator."

Marik lets out a faint chuckle as he presses the call button, but Bakura notices the Egyptian awkwardly rub the back of his neck.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly, over the groan of the elevator.

Marik stiffens for a moment before his arm drops back to his side.

"I… I'm fine," he answers, his voice wavering momentarily. "Just… fine."

"Are you sure?" Bakura presses as the elevator dings, its old doors creaking open. "Because—"

"I said I'm _fine,_" Marik snaps, storming into the elevator. "Now _drop it._"

Silently, the white-haired man follows, slouching against the wall of the elevator as the doors close. Marik jabs the "14" button, and — with a hard lurch — they start going up.

"…and don't you _dare_ mention any of this week to Ishizu."

Bakura glances over, and sees on Marik's face a glower he normally only sees in his own reflection.

He feels his back straighten uncomfortably.

"If you insist."

* * *

_"Marik? Marik, look at me__.__"_

_ Bakura grasps Marik's shoulders, shaking him roughly._

_ "Say something. Anything. __**Please.**__"_

_ Marik's head rolls silently to the side, his normally life-filled eyes blankly staring forward._

_ "Marik, answer me, please," Bakura pleads, unfamiliar panic creeping into his voice. "Marik. __**Marik!**__"_

Bakura snaps his eyes open, gasping for breath. Next to him, Marik shifts slightly, nuzzling his head against the white-haired man's shoulder before growing still once more.

Slowly, Bakura's eyes slide shut once more, and he reaches up to massage his temples.

_Not again…_

Marik had played himself perfectly at dinner tonight — all light smiles and easy words for Ishizu, who never batted an eye at her brother's behavior. For a while, Bakura himself thought that perhaps, after seeing this side of Marik again, his own dreams would once again be calm.

_No such luck, I guess,_ the white-haired thief grumbles to himself, sliding an arm under Marik's back. To be fair, these were still (if only barely) preferable to the dream he'd had about Yami Marik, but even so…

For a moment, he wonders if Marik's noticed his nightmares the way he's noticed Marik's "fits."

_"Hey, uh… thank you. For not mentioning anything to Ishizu, I mean. I just… I don't want to give her more to worry over about me."_

He doubts it, but can't bring himself to care right now.

"Sometimes I wonder what I'm going to do with you," Bakura mutters, taking a small bit of Marik's hair and wrapping it around his finger.

"Mnh… ignore… meee…"

Bakura snorts, watching as Marik's face scrunches up momentarily.

"Well, if you insist," he says, unable to keep a slight grin off his face before closing his eyes once more.

Sleep comes easier this time around.

* * *

(I know I say this every time, as does just about every fanfic author, but please: feedback - any feedback at all - is appreciated. Please review.)


	7. Chapter 7

(Sooo having self-conscious feels about my writing again, what else is new

Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi)

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Seven

* * *

"I thought I told you not to say anything to Ishizu."

Bakura glances up from the kitchen sink just in time for Marik to slam something roughly against his chest.

"What are you talking about?" the white-haired man growls, letting the half-washed pan slide back into the sink as he takes the object. "What is this?"

I was cleaning the living room. I picked up your coat and _this_ fell out," Marik snaps, crossing his arms as Bakura briefly examines the card.

_Domino City Museum  
__Ishizu Ishtar, Curator  
__(555) 405-1976__  
_

"And this has _what_ to do with me? It's just your sister's business card. I don't even remember picking this up."

"Flip it over and try lying to my face like that again."

With a frown, Bakura slowly turns the card over.

_Please call me at any hour if  
__Marik's mental state worsens.__  
_

"…Huh. Your sister's more attentive than I gave her credit for," Bakura shrugs, flicking the card onto the counter.

"You haven't called her, have you?" Marik demands, the scowl still shadowing his face.

"Marik, I didn't even know she'd put the card in my coat that night," the white-haired man sighs, turning back toward the sink. "And you _know_ I don't like to talk to people about problems. Why would I start now?"

Silently, Marik watches with a darkening glare as Bakura continues cleaning, seemingly unperturbed.

"I don't want you to call her," he finally mutters, his nails digging hard into his arms.

"Fine."

"I _mean_ it, Bakura," the Egyptian hisses, teeth bared. "_Don't._ Or I'll—"

"Or you'll _what?_" Bakura snarls, spinning to face Marik. "Unlike you, _I'm_ not afraid of physical threats. And if I _am_ going to do something, I won't back down just because _you_ told me to."

With a low growl of his own, Marik sulks out of the kitchen.

He returns a moment later to throw Bakura's coat into the sink.

"What th— the _hell_, Marik!?"

"Get out," the Egyptian seethes, clenched fists trembling. "Just get — get _out._"

Glaring, Bakura snatches his coat, shaking off what water he can before throwing it on.

"Fine," he snarls, shoving Marik hard out of his way as he storms towards the front door. "If you want me gone that badly, I _will_. And see if I come back this time!"

Bakura isn't sure if he just imagines Marik saying, "N-No, wait—," or if the Egyptian is actually calling to him — but he doesn't stop to check as he slams the door shut behind him.

* * *

"Aah, sorry it's taking me so long. It's just, I just thought you'd be here a little later, Yugi—"

"Oh no, it's fine! I should've called to say I was on my way. Besides, they're not expecting us until later, so there's no real rush."

With a harried smile, Ryou continues digging through his box of movies.

"Do you need help looking for it?" Yugi asks, leaning over the back of the couch as he fiddles with the loose chain hanging around his neck. "The least I could do is help you out—"

"No, it _should_ be in here," the white-haired man frowns, briefly scanning each title before flipping through them. "I just haven't had a chance to alphabetize my movies, so — hm?"

They both glance out the large bay window as they hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.

"I thought we were all meeting at Tristan's?" Ryou asks, scratching his temple briefly.

"We were _supposed_ to," Yugi nods, moving towards the door. "I'll just go check and see who's—"

The door flings open before he can reach it, and Bakura manages three whole steps into the house before he catches sight of Yugi.

"Oh, _perfect,_" the white-haired thief growls, hands tensed, ready to wrap around a person's neck. "As if today wasn't bad _enough._"

"What are _you_ doing here?" Yugi demands, his eyes narrowing.

"Why, _I'm_ paying my dear host a visit," Bakura sneers, relaxing just enough to cross his arms. "What about _you_? Are you still looking for someone new to… look up to?"

His shoulders are nearly level with Bakura's now, but Yugi still takes a step back, clenching his fists.

"That's enough, from _both_ of you," Ryou interrupts, standing up, movie in hand. "What _are_ you doing here? Yugi and I were just about to leave."

"Oh, well then! Don't let me stop you," Bakura says, gesturing towards the open door. "I just need somewhere to _be_ for a while. Don't you mind me — I'll take good care of your house while you're gone, host."

Yugi says something in a tone that reminds Bakura of the pharaoh; he ignores it, instead staring hard at his host.

Ryou's eyes widen briefly before he nods quietly, then drops the movie into the backpack by his feet.

"Just… don't destroy anything while I'm gone," he sighs, slinging the bag over one shoulder. Approaching Yugi, Ryou puts a hand on his friend's back and gently pushes him out the door. "Come on, Yugi."

"But—"

"Yes, goodbye, Yugi," Bakura scoffs, quickly slamming the door shut as his host and the former vessel step outside. "And good riddance," he adds, under his breath, turning to—

"Ryou, why do you still let him push you around like that? It's not right. He shouldn't even _be_ in this world anymore…"

He's not sure if Yugi is purposely having this conversation on the porch, or is simply too foolish to wait before running his mouth — but Bakura lingers by the door, fists clenched tightly.

"Yugi, I appreciate that you care about my well-being… But you're commenting on things that you don't understand as well as you think you do. Besides, he doesn't 'push me around' anymore, not like before. Now, shall we get going?"

"…if you say so, Ryou…"

After a few moments, Bakura hears Ryou's car start up, then pull out of the driveway.

With a low growl, he storms into the kitchen, flinging open every cabinet in search of something unimportant, unnoticeable, and — most importantly — breakable.

* * *

(Given that I literally turned what was a 6-page document full of feels into this 3-page chapter, I really would appreciate feedback. Please review!)


	8. Chapter 8

(So I went back and changed something in chapter two; now Ryou was gone on vacation with Joey instead of Tristan. Minor detail that may or may not have some prevalence in the future [but most likely not].

Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi)

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Eight

* * *

_"Well, well… look what dropped back in. I can't say I was expecting to see you quite so soon."_

_ Bakura scowls, taking a step back from the leering Yami Marik before glancing around._

_ Wherever they are now, it certainly isn't where his previous nightmares have taken place on. No biting wind cuts through the stone walls that surround them both; the air weighs down on Bakura, the smell of earth filling his nose._

_ After three thousand years, it only takes him a moment to remember this feeling of being in a tomb._

_ "Do you like it?" Yami Marik grins, spreading his arms. "I've been doing some remodeling, as you can see. Coming back to that blimp all that time has become… tedious. Better to be somewhere we're both familiar with, wouldn't you agree?"_

_ "'Coming back to'? It's not __**your**__ dream to keep 'coming back to'," Bakura snaps, eyes narrowed._

_ "Oh? It isn't?"_

_ With a low chuckle, Yami Marik leans close, tracing the tensed muscles of Bakura's neck with splayed fingers before taking hold of the Millennium Ring's rope._

_ "Then why am I still here?" he murmurs, licking his lips before fixing Bakura with a lecherous grin._

_ Bakura silently curses not being able to attribute this shiver to any wind._

_ "I suppose I'll let you keep thinking that for now," Yami Marik grins, slowly but firmly tugging the white-haired man close. "Though if this is 'just a dream' — if this is still just __**your**__ dream, even — I wonder what my weaker half would say if he knew you were dreaming about __**this**__…"_

_ Bakura tries to break free, but the other spirit keeps pulling the Millennium Ring further back until, even at the very end of his tether, Bakura can feel Yami Marik's breath ghosting over his lips._

_ "Let __**go**__ of me," Bakura snarls, turning his head away while trying in vain to shove Yami Marik aside. "__**Now.**__"_

_ "Why don't you make me?" Yami Marik taunts, lightly pressing his lips to the hollow spot between Bakura's ear and jaw as his free hand lightly traces under Bakura's chin. "After all, this is __**your**__ dream… or so you say, at least."_

_ The white-haired man squirms, craning his neck as far back as he can manage._

_ "I — I __**mean**__ it," he growls, bewildered at how his voice suddenly starts to fail him. "Let __**go**__, or I'll — I'll—"_

_ "Or you'll what? You'll make yourself wake up?"_

_ Yami Marik's low chuckle, distressingly close to his ear, covers Bakura's skin with an uncomfortably pleasant tingling sensation._

_ "Though, loath as I am to admit it… you probably __**should**__ wake up about now," the dark spirit sighs, his free hand drifting to fiddle with the collar of Bakura's shirt. "Before my weaker half decides to do something… drastic."_

_ As if on cue, Bakura feels the dream melting away — the smell of the earth, the walls around them, even the floor underfoot._

_ The only thing that remains unnervingly real is Yami Marik, and the feel of his tongue tracing the edge of Bakura's ear._

_ "But I'll be seeing you again soon enough, I'm sure~"_

Bakura's eyes snap open, his breath escaping in haggard gasps.

It takes him the better part of a minute to muster the energy to kick the sweat-stained comforter off his body, which he does before rolling onto his side on Ryou's couch.

_It was just a dream,_ he tells himself, frustratingly uncomforted by his words. _Just… just another blasted dream, that's all it—_

His phone chirps loudly from within the comforter, eliciting an emphatic curse. With a growl, he sits up, digging through the crumpled blanket to find it.

_Who would ever think I'd normally be awake at this hour?_ he seethes, finally finding his phone and turning on the screen. _Whoever it is, I'll make sure they pay for—_

_5 missed calls_

_9 new messages (Marik)_

Bakura feels his rage vanishing, confusion taking its place as he checks his texts.

_Marik (6:34 PM): Bakura please come back_

_Marik (6:51 PM): bakura somethings wrong pleas come bck_

_Marik (7:01 PM): bkura help_

Something cold and crushing wraps itself around Bakura's stomach as he reads through the rest of Marik's texts, each more incoherent than the last, until…

_Marik (7:28 PM): cant hldhi mb ak nemorp lscom bac kbakur ple as_

_Marik (11:42 PM): Bakura_

_Marik (11:44 PM) Please come back_

His phone chirps loudly in his hands, and Marik's texts scroll up on the screen.

_Marik (11:45 PM): I'm scared_

Bakura nearly throws himself off the couch, finding his coat in the darkness and haphazardly throwing it over his shoulders.

_Me (11:45 PM): On my way home. Stay where you are._

* * *

(Soooo yeah. Pretty sure you can guess what the secondary ship is going to be at this point. :B It's just a question of how much I intend to develop it [which is still undecided].

Feedback is appreciated; please review!)


	9. Chapter 9

(This chapter, despite practically writing itself, wrote three/four different versions of itself before it self-destructed into this version.

It's okay, this was the best version anyway!

Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi)

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Nine

* * *

He only takes a small bit of comfort in having had to unlock the front door.

"Marik?" Bakura calls softly, flicking the light switch in the living room — to no effect. "Where are you?"

His eyes adjust quickly to the darkness, and Bakura makes out the faint shapes of the bookshelves lying on the ground, their contents scattered across the room.

"Marik, answer me," he repeats, louder this time as he tries to suppress the concern in his voice. Stepping over books on his way to the kitchen, he continues, "Where are you? Are you alri—?"

He feels something crunch underfoot, and looks down to see the faint reflection of shattered glass across the kitchen floor.

"Ba… Bakura?"

He snaps his head up at that, and follows the sound of Marik's voice to the bathroom.

"…Marik?"

Huddled inside the bathtub, Marik looks up at Bakura, his eyes wide.

"I— I didn't do it," he stammers, his head shaking slowly at first but more frantically as Bakura enters the room. "It — it wasn't me, it wasn't, it—"

"Marik—"

"It _wasn't me_, it wasn't, it _wasn't! _I didn't do this, _I didn't—_"

"_Marik!_"

With a choked whimper, Marik shuts up, his whole body trembling.

Bakura pauses, then exhales deeply before kneeling beside the tub.

"H… Help me," Marik finally whispers, scrambling cautiously to the side of the tub to be nearer the white-haired thief. "_Please._"

Bakura frames Marik's face with his hands, gently running his thumbs over the other's temples.

"Tell me everything that happened," he demands, his voice soft.

"I can't _remember_ it_,_" Marik whines, placing his dark hands over Bakura's. "Y-You left, and then everything went grey, and — and suddenly it was night, the, the lights wouldn't work, and—"

"Slow down," Bakura orders, scooting closer. "I can't understand you when you're talking that fast."

"—and everything was… was ruined," the Egyptian continues, albeit more slowly. "The living room, the kitchen, the — the bedroom, too. And the whole time… I — I can't remember anything else from before you came back, except…"

"…except…?"

"But… but he's gone, isn't he?" Marik asks, his voice cracking briefly as his gaze darts downward. "He — he's gone, y-you _told_ me he's gone. I, I was _there_ when he was destroyed, so why, _why_—"

"Slow _down,_ Marik," Bakura repeats, his grasp on Marik tightening slightly as he tries to force him to focus. "What are you talking about?"

Marik slides his hands up Bakura's arms until he's holding the white-haired man's face, fingertips digging into his sharp features.

"His _voice_," he whispers, eyes wide. "Bakura… _I heard his voice._"

His blood turns to ice in his veins.

"But he's _gone,_" Marik whines, clutching desperately to Bakura. "He's _dead._ Or close _enough_ to dead. _Why did I hear him?_"

After several long, silent moments, Bakura lowers his arms, wrapping them around Marik's chest and pulling him close.

"Everything's… going to be fine," the white-haired thief murmurs, one of his hands slowly running up and down the Egyptian's back.

"But—"

"I _promise,_ Marik," Bakura growls, his hold tightening protectively. "Everything is going to be _fine_. Do you understand?"

Silently, Marik nods, then buries his face into the white-haired man's shoulder.

"…but I'm still scared," he whispers, letting his arms wrap tightly around Bakura's neck.

Bakura can't bring himself to respond.

* * *

(I can only hope my next chapter writes itself as well as this one did.

I consume your feedback for sustenance. Please review!)


	10. Chapter 10

(This chapter... let's not talk about all the writing- and real-life-trauma I had while writing this chapter.

Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Ten

* * *

"I didn't expect you to call quite so soon."

"And yet, you're not surprised that I'm even here at all," Bakura mutters, slinking into the living room as Ishizu shuts the front door.

"No, I'm not," she agrees as she follows in the white-haired man's footsteps. "I could tell that something was wrong when you came over for dinner."

With a sigh, Bakura lets himself collapse onto Ishizu's couch, watching her move to the chair in the far corner.

"How could you tell?" he demands, his arms crossed against his chest. "Marik was acting like he always does. He probably could have even fooled _me._"

"Marik also forgets that I can _tell_ when he's hiding things from me," Ishizu counters, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. "He's tried it often enough. Given that he hardly looked at you over dinner, I figured whatever is happening, you're not the cause of it."

He's not sure whether to take her statement to mean that he's still a closed book, but Bakura nevertheless chooses to now look out the balcony window, watching the light rain catch on the glass.

"What is happening to my brother?" Ishizu asks; Bakura can hear her nails dig into the fabric of her sweater as she grips her arms.

"I don't know," he growls, knowing there's no point in saying "nothing" now. "He keeps having these… blackouts, or whatever you want to call them, where he just doesn't remember anything he's done. Every time it happens, he…"

Bakura pinches the bridge of his nose before sliding his hand down his face, debating…

Ishizu waits in silence.

"…there's no chance that… that your brother's 'other side' could come back, is there?" Bakura finally asks, scratching behind his ear. "Nobody's released him from the Shadow Realm, so — he's stuck there, isn't he?"

He notices as Ishizu's shoulders stiffen.

"…I do not know."

"…What?"

"If… if you and Ryou were still directly connected, and one of you was banished," Ishizu begins, carefully putting her thoughts to words. "If it were like that, I could say with certainty that my brother's half would stay banished."

"Then why can't you say that about _him_?" Bakura demands, leaning forward, teeth bared from his low growl. "He's _not Marik._ They are _not_ the same person."

"But they _used_ to be," Ishizu replies, her brow furrowed. "He was born _from_ Marik, from Marik's pain and hatred — they are connected in a way that you and Ryou never were. And with Marik on this side of the Shadow Realm, I cannot say that the spirit couldn't find a way back."

Bakura slumps back against the couch, hands forcefully running through his hair.

"Is that what you think is happening to my brother?" Ishizu asks, her lower lip pulled in.

"_His __**voice.**__ Bakura… I heard his__** voice.**__"_

"_But I'll be seeing you again soon enough, I'm sure~"_

"_But he's __**gone.**__ He's __**dead.**__ Why did I hear him?"_

Bakura becomes acutely aware of the fact that he left Marik home alone.

"I have to go," he mutters, quickly rising to his feet.

"I'm coming with you," Ishizu insists, standing as well. "I want to—"

"You will _not_," Bakura snaps. "Marik was panicking that I came here at _all_ — all bringing you _back_ would do is cause more trouble. I'll deal with this _myself._"

For the first time he can ever recall, Ishizu glares at Bakura, fists clenched.

Her expression softens a moment later, however, and she lets her body relax.

"Then… have Marik call me after you've made sure he's alright," she asks, her voice unusually soft. "At least do _that_ much for me."

"Yeah. Sure. If I remember," Bakura mutters, keys already in hand as he hurries towards the front door.

He has more important concerns.

* * *

He comes home to find the doorknob lying in pieces on the sidewalk.

"Marik, are you alright?" Bakura demands as he slams the door open with no regard for subtlety. "Where are you?"

The few moments of silence give him time to notice fist-sized holes in the walls, and the cushioning of the couch bleeding from long gashes all over the floor.

"Marik, answer me _now_," the white-haired thief barks once more, storming into the kitchen — where he's greeted by the sight of knives embedded in the walls. "_Where are you?_"

Out of desperation, Bakura heads to the bedroom, growling as he sees no trace of the Egyptian.

"Damnit, Marik," he snarls, turning back, "where the _hell have y—_"

Something heavy hits him hard in the back of the head, and he crumples to the floor.

The last sound Bakura hears is a dark chuckle before the world fades to uncomfortable darkness.

* * *

(Auuuugh so much got changed in editing. Please review!)


	11. Chapter 11

(How long does it take to write a chapter? This long, if I start not knowing exactly what I want to happen next...

Characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi)

* * *

Takeover  
Chapter Eleven

* * *

He wakes to a throbbing headache and the feel of a hand slowly running through his hair.

"Muh… Marik," Bakura groans, pulling his knees to his chest before unsuccessfully trying to sit up. "Marik…?"

The hand on his hair slowly grabs, then hoists him halfway off the floor.

"Look who finally decided to wake up," Yami Marik croons, leaning in close. "Did you have a good rest?"

"You — what did you do to Marik?!" Bakura snarls, recoiling before he tries to reach for Yami Marik's throat — and finds his hands bound tightly behind his back. "Untie me. _Now!_"

"No… no, I don't think so," the dark-skinned man grins, eyes glittering as he watches the white-haired man struggle against his binds. "I think I like you better like this."

Bakura growls, but settles in into a sitting position, eyes narrowed, trying to force the room to stop spinning around him.

"Your precious _Marik_ is fine, by the way," Yami Marik drawls, slowly pulling Bakura's head back and tracing a finger over his pale neck. "He's quite safe, where he is. I might even let you see him for a little while… _if_ you agree to help me."

Bakura says nothing, trying to ignore the feel of Yami Marik caressing him.

"I assure you, it's nothing too difficult," the Egyptian smirks, his hand sliding to fully rest on the side of Bakura's neck. "All I need is for you to help me get a body of my own."

"Like you're not enough of a hassle just _borrowing_ _Marik's_ body!" the white-haired man snarls, writhing his body away from Yami Marik's touch. "I'm not going to help you, and stop _touching_ me!"

Yami Marik clicks his tongue, the light smirk on his face falling to a scowl.

"Is that how you're going to be?" he asks, eyes narrowed as he starts to withdraw his hand.

"I'm not helping you get a body of your own!" Bakura repeats, his searing glare fixed on Yami Marik's "blurry" face. "And you're not going to get me to change my mind!"

For a moment, he hears nothing but silence, and feels only the one hand wrapped up in his hair.

The moment ends with a soft touch to his chin.

"Well, if _that's_ how you're going to be," Yami Marik purrs, lightly holding Bakura's chin, "then I'll just let you tell Marik yourself that you don't want me out."

He shudders violently, then slumps forward, his whole body going slack against Bakura's.

"Ma-Marik?" the white-haired man asks, something resembling fear in his voice as he struggles against his binds again. "Marik, is that you? Wake up. Marik!"

With a low, much softer groan, the blond man against his chest slowly pushes away.

Even with his vision still spinning, Bakura makes out Marik's frightened features.

"Ba — Bakura," Marik croaks, head still bowed as he weakly grabs at Bakura's shirt. "Bakura, he… he's _here._ It's _him._"

Bakura leans forward, gently pressing his forehead against Marik's.

"I know," he murmurs.

"What… What do we do?" the Egyptian asks, his voice only barely stronger than his hold on the white-haired man. "Wh-what do _I_ do? I can _hear_ him, now, and it's—"

"Marik. Look at me."

After a long pause, Marik looks up.

"It's going to be alright," Bakura assures, his voice softer than he remembers it being in a very long time. "I promise. Everything is going to be _fine._"

Marik nods slowly, still looking unconvinced.

Bakura can't blame him, when he knows those words are all he has to offer.

* * *

(Someday I'm gonna know exactly what I want to write before I start writing it. Please review!)


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